


April Fools

by spare



Series: Life, Love, & Lots of Yummy Food [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anniversary, Burping, Colds, Comedy, Cooking, Domestic, Dorks in Love, Fever, Flirting, Fluff, Food, Gen, Hasetsu, Kasha, Kisses, M/M, Okayu, Sickfic, VictUuri, Victuri, post-Season 1, stomach growls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 20:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spare/pseuds/spare
Summary: “There's a Japanese saying for this, isn't there? 'Colds can't catch fools', or something to that effect?”On the anniversary of Victor's arrival in Hasetsu, a drunken swim leaves Yuuri with a cold. Good thing Victor's there to help him get well. (Ufun.) Three interconnected scenes in three perspectives.





	April Fools

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Plenilunio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plenilunio/gifts).



> Prompted by my friend, Jiyuu-kun.<3 Ingat lagi.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** We have Mitsurou Kubo, Sayo Yamamoto, Kenji Miyamoto, and Studio MAPPA to thank for the masterpiece that is _Yuri!!! on Ice_. The story below is a free fanwork published solely for entertainment.

**#1: Gyaakeshita (POV Yuuri)**

**_Hasetsu, Mid-April_ **

They had both been drunk, Yuuri remembers that much, and the water had been icy cold.

The fact that Yuuri had gone in fully clothed—save for his shoes, long left lying on the sand halfway through their romantic (kinda) beachside picnic—just made their return trek to Yu-topia all the more teeth-chattering. (Also bone-chilling. Not quite blood-freezing, but close.) For Yuuri and Victor, that is; Makkachin, having enough sense not to go swimming during a sudden freak snowfall (eerily reminiscent of last year's, come to think of it), had outpaced the two figure skating champions with earnest-puppy ease.

By the time they'd gotten home, the sun had already set, and Yuuri was flushed and feverish. It took one look at Yuuri soaked and shivering on the porch for his mother to exclaim, _“Ara, gyaakeshita ne,”_ and help Victor carry him back to their room.

The rest of the evening is a blur. Mostly since he'd taken off his glasses at some point, but also because he kept drifting in and out of consciousness. The local doctor had been called, the same one who'd done his medical exam right after he'd gotten his Grand Prix assignments last year. Yuuri was prescribed bed rest, vitamin C, and plenty of fluids. Sometime in the night, he vaguely recalls the sensation of someone (Victor?) grasping his hand; of knuckles gently pressed against his forehead. A chiding voice (Mari-neechan?) a bit later, saying: _“Get some shut-eye already. We can't have you falling sick, too.”_

Yuuri falls into a deep, dreamless sleep not long after that, and the next thing he knows it's early morning and he's in bed in his houseclothes and _God_ is he thirsty. (And hot. And sticky. And probably looking like death warmed over, and oh crap, Victor could walk in at any time and see him like this—)

(And Fate being what it is—a grade A troll—Victor does, in fact, walk in that very instant.)

In retrospect, perhaps screeching and diving under the covers were _not_ the best way to greet one's beloved. Especially if said beloved happened to be carrying a pitcher of water and a piping-hot bowl of  okayu. Victor being who he is—a god-tier athlete with lightning-quick reflexes and incredible flexibility, even at his age—both water and porridge are saved, thankfully, from soaking the tatami-covered floor. Yuuri was thus able to croak out a belated _“Good morning”_ , drink the pitcher dry in three long gulps, and devour his okayu like he was half-starved and hadn't spent most of yesterday afternoon eating at the beach.

And burp soon afterwards, ridiculously long and obnoxiously loud, because Yuuri being who he is—well, _of course_ he would.

“Pretend you didn't hear that,” Yuuri groans, burying his face in his hands.

“Now, now,” says Victor, attempting to laugh it off, “at least you've recovered a bit? Your appetite's fine, obviously.”

Yuuri could just about _die_. “You think I'm gross, don't you?”

“You're adorable, Yuuri. You always are.”

At this, Yuuri tears up. “Victor...”

“ _Especially_ with snot dripping from your nose like that.”

“Victor!”

To which Victor simply chuckles, lightly patting Yuuri on the cheek, before handing him their handy-dandy 'Makkachin' tissue dispenser. Yuuri duly blows his nose with as much dignity as he could muster. (i.e., Not much.)

“Better?” Victor asks afterwards.

“Yeah,” Yuuri nods, “Thanks.” His throat may still be sore, but he could breathe a lot easier, at least. “Where _is_ Makkachin, anyway?”

“Outside the staff kitchen, last time I checked,” Victor replies. “We're not the only ones who've missed your mother's cooking.”

“Oumura spoils him, too.”

“Most people do.” Victor shrugs. “Beautiful brown eyes _are_ hard to resist, as I'm sure you're well aware, Yuuri.”

Yuuri squints at his fiancé with mock severity. “Are you calling me a dog?”

“No,” Victor returns, leaning in close. Closer. “I'm calling you beautiful.”

Neither of them speak for a good few minutes after that.

 

Later, with their mouths no longer pleasurably occupied, and after Yuuri's belated protests that they shouldn't have, what were they thinking, Victor would catch his cold and Yakov will kill them for sure—

(—Interrupted mid-rant by Victor kissing Yuuri yet again, then assuring him afterwards that Victor's cantankerous coach is no murderer, don't worry your pretty head, sweetheart—)

_Later,_ Victor would check Yuuri's temperature, peering at the thermometer and announcing that while his fever has indeed gone down, he isn't quite in the clear just yet.

“And here I thought you've kissed it all better,” is Yuuri's dry reply.

“Well, you know what they say,” Victor rejoins, shooting him a sly smile, “'If at first you don't succeed'—”

They try again. (Words of wisdom and all that.) And while the third time isn't quite the charm—nor the fourth, nor the short but sweet fifth—you wouldn't find either of them complaining.

“Speaking of adages,” Victor ventures afterward, “There's a Japanese saying for this, isn't there? 'Colds can't catch fools', or something to that effect?”

“It's 'Fools can't even catch colds',” corrects Yuuri. Or tries to, anyhow; the successful execution of which no sooner thwarted by Yuuri sneezing, explosively, at the very end of it. He lets out a little laugh, wheezy and weak, and finally reaches for his glasses to put them on. “I'm one of the exceptions to the rule, I suppose.”

“Or you're not a fool at all,” Victor offers, forefinger upraised. “Suppose that, too, Yuuri.”

“Yesterday is proof to the contrary.” Even drunk, even if it's (technically) spring, how _could_ he have even thought that taking a swim during a snowfall was a good idea?

“I goaded you into it,” Victor reminds him.

Yuuri sniffles. “So you did.”

Victor frowns. “And I swam with you,” he goes on. “I even tried going for a deep-sea dive, but you stopped me.”

And just in time, too. Drunkenly drowning to death would have been a horrible way to conclude their first anniversary. With a nod, Yuuri says, “So I did, yes.”

“And yet _I'm_ perfectly fine,” Victor emphatically proclaims, eyes widening in realization. “ _I_ didn't catch a cold, and I was half-naked. Which means that I'm—”

“Russian?” Yuuri supplies, and flashes what he hopes is an impish, if bleary-eyed, smile. “A ridiculously sexy one, too, if I may add.”

Victor's own eyes seem to go watery. “Yuuri.” Only that, and then Victor's arms are wrapping around him in an octopus hug, warm and loving, if just a hair's breadth away from life-choking.

“V-Victor—”

“Whoops, sorry.” Victor doesn't really sound like he is, but he _does_ loosen his hold somewhat.

At the very least, it frees Yuuri's own arms enough to hug him back; to lay his head on Victor's shoulder and whisper in earnest, “Thank you for staying with me all this time.”

Victor releases a breath. “That's my line, I should think.”

They stay like that for a spell, silent and still; solemn.

Until someone's stomach growls, ridiculously long and obnoxiously loud, and Yuuri has to blink a couple of times before leaning back and looking Victor in the eye.

“Pretend you didn't hear that,” Victor says.

Yuuri tries very, very hard not to laugh. “I don't think I can.”

“ _Yuuri._ ”

“Let's get you some breakfast,” is all that Yuuri returns, taking Victor's hand.

 

**#2: Okayu (POV Victor)**

**_Earlier, in Yu-topia's staff kitchen:_ **

“Ah, awake already, Vicchan?” Hiroko comments amiably, looking up from the large earthen pot she is stirring. “Ohayou.”

“Ohayou, Hiroko-Ma—” Victor checks himself, “—that is, Mrs. Katsuki.”

Yuuri's mother waves him off, chuckling softly. “'Hiroko-Mama' is fine, I've told you already,” she says. “Breakfast will be ready soon. Okayu—” She nods towards the pot, “—and some grilled tuna.”

“'Okayu'?” Victor repeats, walking over to the stove and glancing down. It looks like rice kasha, albeit of a mushier, slightly soupier consistency than what Victor recalls his own grandmother used to make. There are mushrooms in it, and slivers of chicken, and the faint yet distinct aroma of ginger to accompany the homey smell of boiling rice.

“For Yuuri,” Hiroko states beside him. “Okayu is very good for fever. Very healthy.”

Victor smiles. “It looks quite tasty, too.”

“Vkusno, yes,” Hiroko agrees. She turns toward a shallow wooden bowl on the nearby counter containing six good-sized eggs. As Victor watches, she takes an egg in each hand, neatly cracking them open using the rim of the bowl and then depositing the gooey contents into another bowl. “Now we beat the eggs a little,” Hiroko explains, gesturing accordingly, “and then we stir it into the okayu, okay?”

By 'we', Victor assumes she's asking him to help out. “Okay,” Victor says with a nod, and then picks up an egg and gets cracking. That done, he proceeds to beat the eggs, with Hiroko in the meantime mixing in a few teaspoons of white miso paste into the simmering porridge. Afterwards, she assists him in tipping the egg bowl just enough so that the mixture falls in one steady thread-like stream into the pot, the resulting strands adding a delicate yellow-gold tint to the mostly white okayu.

They're ladling the porridge into individual serving bowls when Makkachin comes in, announcing his presence with a robust bark and a wag of his bushy tail.

“And a good morning to you, too,” Victor greets the poodle, adding the finishing touches to Yuuri's okayu—finely grated carrot and some dried seaweed—while Hiroko retrieves the ceramic spoons.

Makkachin casts a longing, hopeful look at the bowl.

“That's for Yuuri, so, no,” Victor tells him gently. “You'll get your share later, all right?”

Makkachin simply wuffs in response, then turns towards Hiroko.

“We'll make yours next, Makka, don't worry,” she assures him.

To which 'Makka' sits back on his haunches and waits, seemingly satisfied.

 

**#3: Fools (POV Yuri)**

**_One week later_ **

Of all the things Yuri Plisetsky thought he'd be doing upon his return to Hasetsu, babysitting a whiny, bedridden twenty-eight-year-old was definitely _not_ one of them.

“You're a dumbass,” Yuri says. Maybe it's stating the blatantly obvious—this is _Victor_ , for crying out loud—but fuck it, he'd wanted to say it anyhow.

“Well, I managed to catch a cold,” Victor has the gall to reply, exchanging glances with Katsudon like there's a joke in there that only they knew the punchline, “So, no, Yurio, actually, I'm not.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever,” Yuri scoffs. Not that that's a surprise.

“I can explain,” Victor offers through a sniffle. “They've got this saying in Japanese, see, and it means—”

“I don't care,” Yuri cuts in succinctly. “Just drink your damned tea already.”

“So cold,” Victor pouts. “You're starting to sound just like Yakov.”

“At least I'm not starting to _look_ like him,” Yuri shoots back. And then, for good measure: “Baldy.”

“Ouch.” Victor melodramatically sweeps a hand over his (not really receding, but hell if Yuri'll ever admit it) hairline, golden ring gleaming obnoxiously in the light. “Yuuri,” he whines, “Yurio is bullying me!”

“You did tease him first,” Katsudon points out, making Yuri privately concede that one of these two so-called adults is, at least, not a complete idiot.

Only to have him take it back when the pig fucking _smiles_ and adds, the traitor, “And you shouldn't let your tea grow cold. Yurio prepared it for you, you know. He says it's his grandpa's foolproof cold remedy.”

Yuri makes a strangled noise. (Of righteous rage, of course, and totally not because he was embarrassed or anything lame like that.)

“You did?” And now there are stupid stars in Victor's stupid baby blues to go with his stupid, _stupid_ heart-shaped smile. “Aww, Yurio, so you _do_ care!”

_Well, duh,_ Yuri thinks, _of course I do._ He's already filled his 'stating the obvious' quota for the day, however, so all he says is, “Tea,” simple as you please, and, “Drink it, or I'll dunk it on you.”

~end~

**Author's Note:**

> “Ara, gyaakeshita ne.” – 'Oh dear, (you've) caught a cold.' Please note that Hiroko-san uses the Saga term for 'caught a cold', 'gyaakeshita', instead of the standard Japanese 'kaze wo hitta'. But I'm no expert on Japanese dialects, so if anyone knows proper Karatsu-ben or Saga-ben (or whatever Kyuushuu dialect Yuuri's parents use in the show), share your wisdom!
> 
> My head-canon re Yu-topia's kitchen staff: I think Yu-topia actually has a head chef who cooks the meals served to guests (katsudon included): this stocky guy in white cook's overalls who appears (along with the Katsukis and Yuuko-tachi) in Yu-topia's dining hall during episodes 6-7. He's unnamed, so until there's new info, I'm calling him 'Oumura Teppei', nicknamed 'Kuma'. However, I also believe that Mama Katsuki is _the_ culinary genius behind the recipe for every dish, although she only ever personally prepares meals for close friends and family.
> 
> Speaking of head-canons, another one is of Victor having been raised by a loving grandma (who was as flighty and cheerfully blunt as Victor could get, spoke and wrote French better than Russian, and from whom Victor got his heart-shaped smile). Fight me. (Oh yeah, and Victor has taken to calling his future in-laws 'Hiroko-Mama' and 'Toshiya-Papa'.)
> 
> **tl;dr:** Non-canon-compliant is non-canon-compliant. Artistic license, yo.
> 
> Thank you for reading. If this served to brighten your day, please consider brightening mine by leaving a comment/kudos. Or share around to brighten someone else's and spread the love!


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